


Le Mot Juste

by Jaydee_Faire



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Fluff, Language Barrier, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 09:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7527244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaydee_Faire/pseuds/Jaydee_Faire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lazar and Pallas have a quiet moment overlooking the ocean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Le Mot Juste

**Author's Note:**

> I guess it's pretty much canon that Veretian is just "French," so trigger warning for French.

He'd thought it would be hard, having a relationship-- if this could be called one-- with someone he couldn't quite understand, but Pallas found that underneath Veretian sensibilities and Veretian laces, Lazar was, after all, just a man, and there is a certain language that men share that needs few words. 

He knew a few things in Veretian, anyway. Of course all the swear words, and every possible word that had to do with fucking, most of which he'd learned sitting around the campfire long before he'd ever met Lazar. Pallas fondly remembered a night when, after listening to Lazar prattle on to him for several minutes, he'd simply turned to the man and said, "Bend me over and fuck me," in heavily accented Veretian and then laughed at Lazar's startled expression.

Other things were more difficult. Pallas could take orders in Veretian, to a point anyway, and he was certainly capable of miming drinking and then holding up fingers according to how many glasses he wanted. But he found that it was in quieter moments, outside the typical soldier's pasttimes of drinking and eating and fighting and fucking, that he ran into the most difficulties.

Pallas was standing against a metal railing, the last barrier between himself and a very long, rocky drop into the ocean below. He heard Lazar shuffling up behind him-- the man never went anywhere quietly-- and leaned back into his warm touch as arms wound around his waist.

"Sometimes," Pallas said in Akielon, "I can't stop staring down. I know it would be awful, but I can't keep the thought out of my head. Do you feel that way too?" He asked, though he knew Lazar wouldn't understand one word in twenty. "That you just want to jump?"

_"No,"_ Lazar said harshly, jerking Pallas away from the railing. "No."

Pallas staggered back, still in Lazar's arms "What? Let me _go--_ what's the matter?"

"No," Lazar said again, and took Pallas' shoulders, turning him so they faced each other. "No _jump."_

Pallas laughed. "I didn't say I was _going to,_ I said-- it's complicated," he said, casting a glance behind him. "Maybe Veretians think differently."

Lazar took Pallas' face in his hands, kissed his temple, kissed his cheek, and murmured something in Veretian. Pallas heard something that almost sounded like the Veretian word for 'home,' but different. And another word he'd heard shouted on the field, but only as an order: 'protect.' Protect your flank. Protect the Prince. 

...Protect _him._

Pallas took Lazar's hand, led him back to the railing, making a show of holding onto it with both hands so Lazar wouldn't think he was going to fling himself off of the edge. They looked out at the lace-capped waves, at slivers of moonlight shivering over the water, the stars cold and bright above. Lazar sighed something in Pallas' ear, an arm slipping around his waist again, playing with the hem of his chiton. Then, in his strange, melodic Veretian accent, "Beautiful."

Pallas smiled. "Yes, the water is beautiful."

Lazar shook his head. "No. _Pallas._ Beautiful."

_"Me?"_ Pallas laughed again, but he could feel himself blushing. "No, Lazar--"

Lazar snorted and gestured to himself, making a buck-toothed face and crossing his eyes. Pallas only laughed harder, gripping the railing to keep from falling over. Lazar seized him by the waist, kissing him, and they both nearly went over the railing. Pallas struggled to regain his footing, wiping his eyes, then stepped forward to kiss Lazar more gently.

"Pallas is beautiful," Lazar whispered in his ear.

_"Lazar_ just wants under my skirt," Pallas countered, smirking.

"Skirt," Lazar repeated, then lifted Pallas' chiton. "This?"

"Yes," Pallas said, batting his hand away. "Under." He pointed, making a U motion with his finger.

"Oh, ah. _Certainement._ Lazar, under the skirt for Pallas. _Mais aussi,_ the whole meal, of Pallas." Lazar made a gesture that indicated Pallas from head to toe. "The whole meal, beautiful."

"Thank you," Pallas said, pressing himself against Lazar's chest and wondering how he should feel about being referred to as if he were a plate of chicken. "I think."

"No jump," Lazar reminded him.

"No jump," Pallas agreed. 

"Now," Lazar said, tugging on Pallas' arm, "go to home."

"Back to the inn? Why?"

"For fuck beautiful Pallas," Lazard said, hand snaking underneath Pallas' chiton. "Say in Veretian."

"'Bend me over and fuck me,'" Pallas recited, and Lazar let out a whoop, scooping him off of his feet and carrying him towards the Inn.

**Author's Note:**

> Having known both a lot of soldiers and a lot of lovers with language barriers, I don't think Pallas and Lazar would have THAT hard of a time understanding one another. But it's sweet to imagine them learning. Especially Lazar trying to get his Veretian-trained mouth to wrap around big hard Akielon words.
> 
> Also I've been playing Crisis Core and I kept typing "Lazard."


End file.
